


In the Dark of the Sun

by summerhuntresses



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crack Pairing, Crossover, F/F, Humor, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerhuntresses/pseuds/summerhuntresses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Morgana meets a strange witch, her first thought is to recruit her in the fight against Camelot. The witch's first thought is to throw her off a cliff. Morgana is intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions and Flying Lessons

The first time Morgana met Willow, the girl threw her off a cliff. The black-haired, black-eyed girl attacked the second she saw the sorceress. Morgana had felt the incredible power radiating off her, of course, but she had wanted to talk, to see if the girl could be an ally in her fight against Arthur. The girl had her flying through the air in an instant; Morgana had barely been able to utter the incantation that vanished herself in a swirl of smoke before she passed out.

 

Morgana refused to faint, as it would have left her dependent on _Agravaine,_ of all people.

 

Back in the dubious comfort of her hovel, she had healed herself and brooded (Morgana was very good at brooding). The girl was a mystery, and Morgana had always loved mysteries. This girl was powerful and hostile and hadn’t seemed to know who she was, only that she was a threat. If she really thought about it, the girl had seemed wrong; her energy was scattered and confused, and her clothes were strange, not the sort of thing a girl should be wearing. What kind of girl wore _pants?_ (Morgana was secretly more appalled by this than by the fact the girl had nearly killed her.)

 

The second time Morgana met Willow, the girl threw her through a wall. In all fairness, Morgana wasn’t expecting her. Three failed plots and a leak in the roof of her hovel later, Morgana wasn’t worried about one girl, no matter how powerful. The strange black-haired girl had slipped her mind a week ago, although for some reason her hair wasn’t black this time. It was a startlingly brilliant red, one that Morgana was forced to admit was beautiful. The sorceress was in the middle of buying the necessary items to carry out her latest scheme, one she thought was quite clever. (It involved giant spiders, enchanted silk, and itching powder in Arthur’s clothes. Morgana sometimes thought her plans had degenerated after the loss of her sister.)

 

Browsing the market and conversing with unsuspecting villagers from under her hood, Morgana only barely registered the tingle of power at the edge of her mind before she was airborne. A quick charm negated the force of the impact, but she’d gotten stone dust all over her robes. Hovel or no, Morgana was still a noblewoman, and as such, she would not stand for dirty clothes. She had spun and attacked the girl with knife and spell, slicing her cheek open before finding herself flying once again. Growling, she glared at the girl and transported herself back to her hovel, determined to be ready if she ever saw her again. She cheered herself up by yelling at Agravaine. She almost felt normal by the third time she made him cry.

 

The third time Morgana met Willow, she succeeded in beating her. Their last meeting had spurred Morgana into perusing the magic books she had in her hovel, desperate for a way to win. Inspired by her sister, she enchanted a bracelet. (Not the most original idea, true, but Morgana had loved Morgause, and Morgause had loved enchanting jewelry.) The bracelet served the dual purpose of allowing her to summon the hounds of Avalon with a word, and looking very beautiful on her wrist. Morgana felt it complimented the ribbon she had woven through her hair quite nicely. Fortunately for Morgana, it was only a few days after their last encounter that she ran into the girl again. She was still alert for the feel of her power, and was subsequently prepared. As soon as the girl had finished flinging her into inanimate objects (as she seemed so delighted to do), Morgana summoned her hounds and commanded them to attack the girl. Even the strongest of witches would have difficulty against Avalon’s hounds. The girl threw them into each other, and then into Morgana. The only upside was that they had successfully distracted the girl long enough for Morgana to get behind her and trap her in ensorcelled chains. She seemed determined to fight, though, and landed a punch on Morgana’s cheek that would leave an unsightly bruise for days.

 

Morgana finally reached the limits of her patience and struck the girl over the head with her dagger. The girl only had time to widen her eyes at Morgana before passing out. Morgana saw that she had deep green eyes, and suddenly didn’t feel like torturing her so much anymore. She took her back to her hovel and told Agravaine that if he showed up before she summoned him, she would tell Arthur that he had cut a hole in the wall of Arthur’s bedchamber and watched him bathe. She enjoyed the sick white he turned, and thought to herself that she’d never seen him run faster. She almost thought he was a wizard.

 

When she returned inside, she meant to go stir her potions or research ways to torment Arthur or just sit down and brood like she normally did. Instead she found herself drawn to the girl. Without realizing it Morgana had laid her out on her bed, the one true luxury that she had in this dingy shack. Watching her as she slept, Morgana realized that she didn’t feel much in the way of animosity towards the girl, even if she had spent more time practicing flight than she would have wished because of the girl. She was pretty, strikingly so. Long crimson hair set off the pale skin underneath, and her body was slim with curves in all the right places.

 

As soon as Morgana caught herself thinking about her curves she slapped herself, and then slapped herself again just to get the message across. She had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t go looking for trouble, not after the disaster that Gwen had been. The sting of her betrayal was still fresh, even after more than a year.

 

All thoughts of Gwen were driven from her mind when the girl stirred, her body stretching languorously, curving sinuously on Morgana’s forest green sheets. Morgana let her eyes trace over the beauty beneath her, taking in all that she could. Suddenly the body she was ( _ogling_ ) observing tensed, stiffening quickly. Morgana flicked her eyes up, meeting startled and fearful greens. She smiled at the girl, trying to calm her before getting attacked for a fourth time. “ _Vade procul_!” The girl thrust her hand out, and Morgana was forced to laugh at the adorably confused expression on her face when nothing happened. “ _Adjuvo_!” Morgana really had to give her credit for trying. “ _Volabant_ – oh, fuck this.” The girl, apparently giving up on her spellcasting, threw herself at Morgana, seemingly with the intent to pummel her to death despite her lack of magic.

 

Morgana was quite grateful that she’d thought to bind the girl’s powers while she slept, and even more grateful that her own powers were still intact. A whisper of “ _Gebind_ ,” and the strange, ferocious girl was bound in place, unable to harm herself or Morgana. Morgana felt unreasonably sure that if it were possible for looks to kill, she’d be suffering a slow death somewhere very public in a most painful manner. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know. I never did. This is all _your_ doing. If you take it into your head to attack every strange sorceress you encounter one of them will undoubtedly take offense as I have done.” She could feel a pout forming on her lips despite all of her best efforts. It was _irritating_. The girl had ruined at least two of her dresses, and she had few to spare nowadays.

 

The girl blinked, seemingly taken aback by the sight of a professedly offended sorceress pouting at her. To be fair it probably wasn’t something seen often, especially not when the viewer was bound in said sorceress’ lair, completely at her mercy. “You bitch. What did you do to my powers?” The girl seemed to have missed the ‘at her mercy’ portion of the scenario, snarling and struggling against Morgana’s bonds. The sorceress didn’t answer, merely tilted her head in confusion. This girl was _strange_. Her accent was totally out of place, completely foreign to Morgana. She opened her mouth to ask about it, only to be cut off by the girl. “Where am I, and where the fuck is my magic? Who are you?” Her green eyes locked onto Morgana’s grey, challenging her without even needing the words.

 

Morgana bristled, offended beyond words by this girl and her… crudeness. If she would not respect her as a lady (which she still stubbornly believed she was), then she would respect her powers. “ _Héafodsár_.” The girl’s eyes widened before she clutched her head and screamed, a bloodcurdling sound ripped straight from her core. Morgana waited, unwilling to deal with more than she absolutely had to. She would show this girl that she was to be feared. After what she felt was an appropriate length of time, she spoke again. “ _Blódseten_.” The girl’s screams tapered off into an exhausted panting, her hands still weakly clutching her head. She seemed to have lost the energy to more than try to keep her head from exploding, not that Morgana blamed her. That particular spell was quite nasty, as Morgause had shown her on numerous occasions when Morgana had disappointed her. Shaking off the memories, Morgana turned her attention back to the now subdued girl before her. “Are we going to behave ourselves now?” She spoke in honey-sweet tones, menace dripping from each sugared syllable. The girl glanced upwards at her and nodded. Morgana smiled, relieved that she wouldn’t have to waste any more time. “Excellent.”

 

The girl collapsed backwards back onto the bed, seemingly worn out from her torture. Morgana sat back down, reclaiming the chair she hadn’t even noticed herself vacating. “Now then, girl, what is your name? I cannot go through the days calling you ‘witch’. It’s rude.” The only sound that met her ears was labored breathing, strained beyond that which was typical for a girl of her age. Frowning, Morgana moved up the bed until she was level with the girl’s head. She placed her head to the girl’s chest and listened, trying to both remember the things Gaius had taught her about healing and detect them in the redhead’s body. When nothing caught her attention she sighed and sat up, placing her hands above the girl’s body. She closed her eyes, concentrating hard, and spoke softly. “ _Onwréon ealdorgeardum áwierdnesum segath.”_ As the spell took effect, Morgana gasped. One of the trickiest spells she knew, but also one of the most useful, the incantation translated roughly to ‘reveal the hurts of the body to me’. It could seek out all of the ailments a person could be suffering from and show them to the spellcaster. Unfortunately, it was delicate and finicky, and if the caster lost concentration for an instant it wouldn’t take effect. Morgana had spent almost a month straight trying to master it; Morgause had insisted she would need it one day. For some reason, she was finding herself rather grateful for her sister's stubbornness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is short, but this seemed like a natural break point. I have several more pages already written and actual ideas for the first time in a while, so hopefully it won't be another year in between updates.

Suddenly Morgana felt a peculiar sensation she could only describe as a psychic snap, signifying the completion of her spell. Blinking herself from her thoughts, she focused back on the redhead in front of her and gasped. A nebulous haze shifted sluggishly along the girl’s skin, dark shadows that radiated malice and anger visible to her Sight. Morgana brought her palm close to the girl’s skin, careful not to touch, and ever-so-gently pushed the faintest tendril of white magic out. The dark web flared up, darkness intensifying and violently repelling Morgana’s magic before rushing to surround the spot it had touched. The girl twitched, moaning in what Morgana assumed was pain. The sorceress sat down hard, stunned at the display of not only power but darkness she had just witnessed.

 

A memory drifted to the forefront of her consciousness, niggling at her brain until she gave it her full attention. Frowning, she concentrated, trying to recall exactly what the strange witch’s affliction reminded her of.

 

After seven and a half minutes of psychic yoga, Morgana gave up, turning her attention to the redhead still unconscious on her bed. The memory obviously could be neither coaxed nor coerced out into the open. She would have to simply wait, and in the meantime she could make her… _guest_ , Morgana supposed, more comfortable. The shadow on the girl’s aura was fascinating, and even the darkest parts of Morgana didn’t want to kill her anymore. Sighing, the sorceress rose to her feet, wincing as new aches that she hadn’t noticed before made themselves known to her. Loudly.

 

Looking down at the redhead’s serene face, Morgana smiled slightly. “You are far more than you appear, little one.” She paused, considering her own words briefly. “I suppose we have that in common.” She sighed. Companionship had been in short supply since her sister had died. She didn’t consider Agravaine to be true companionship any more so than the spiders that she shared the hovel with (after a brief consideration of the two, Morgana came to the realization that the spiders were far better company).

 

 Absently covering the redhead with a blanket before retaking her seat on the bed, Morgana let her mind wander. Morgause had been everything to her. Her death had utterly shattered Morgana, leaving her with one single goal – destroying Arthur and bringing down Camelot. After the failure of the initial plan, though, and the crushing realization that her sister had died for nothing, Morgana had retreated back to the hovel they had stumbled across in their flight from Camelot’s knights. She had spent weeks there, brooding over her utter and complete failure, even when gifted with the shadows of the dead by the Cailleach-

 

Morgana shot to her feet. _The Cailleach._ _That_ was where she had seen the haze that cloaked the redhead’s aura. It was the same haze that the dead had crossed through to serve her, and the same haze that Lancelot had thrown himself into to banish them. Morgana narrowed her eyes. The Cailleach was powerful, yes, but also greedy and easily bought. If she had had anything to do with the redhead’s affliction (curse, Morgana supposed), it would be fairly easy to get her to admit it. It might even be possible to have it removed.

 

 Morgana didn’t want that just yet, though. She knew next to nothing about the girl, only that she was magical, from somewhere else, and loved throwing things around. That fact, though, told her much more, more than most would see. There were only two reasons why a spellcaster would fight in that particular way. The first was that they were utterly untrained, relying solely on brute force simply because it was all they knew. Morgana dismissed that option almost instantly. Yes, the girl fought like a barbarian, but she was highly controlled. The only other reason was that her experiences had conditioned her to attack first and attack hard, brutalizing her foe as much as possible and hopefully destroying them swiftly.

 

 

Morgana honestly didn’t know what kind of life could have imprinted those kinds of instincts into a girl who looked younger than she was herself. For all the tragedies that had befallen her, and all the combat she had seen, Morgana’s first instinct in most situations was to investigate. She had not yet reached a stage where she automatically assumed that everything was an enemy with no chance of alliance, and she truly did not want to reach it. At the very least, Morgana knew she had the most basic of hopes – the hope that she could convince a foe to let her live, or at least talk long enough to escape. The girl in her bed now seemed to have lost that hope.

 

Morgana looked down at her from where she was still standing. She looked so young, so peaceful and carefree. She wavered, a long-buried instinct coming to the front of her mind. Morgana was startled to realize that she wanted to _help_ this girl, for no reason at all that she could find. She snorted, turning away in disgust. There was no way that one girl could worm her way into her heart, make her _soft_. Morgana would not allow that to happen.

 

She marched over to the door, fully intending to leave, never return, and set fire to the hovel on her way out. Before she made it fully out the door, however, she turned around for one last glance at the sleeping girl. The sight stirred something inside her, and before she could suppress it, she realized exactly how much the girl reminded her of herself. Her shoulders slumped. There was no way she could walk away from this girl, not with her own betrayal weighing heavily on her soul, even years later (bloody Merlin. He didn’t even _try_ to think of something that didn’t involve _poisoning_ her when she was confused and _terrified_ , that wanker).

 

With a shake of her head, Morgana set her shoulders and strode out the door. She didn’t, however, set it on fire. Breathing deeply, she summoned her magic, softly intoned _ráthú,_ and sent a tendril of power snaking its way around the hovel. With any luck, her errand would not keep her too long, and the girl would stay sleeping until she returned. If that wasn’t the case, she would find herself unable to leave the hovel. Any and all outsiders wouldn’t be able to get in, either. All but the strongest-willed would find themselves turning away on their own, and those that got through would see nothing but forest.

 

Morgana refused to admit that she felt protective over the girl. She chose to think of it as possessive – the girl had both power and secrets, and Morgana didn’t want anyone else to swoop in and steal her away before her mysteries could be unraveled.

 

It was time to visit the Cailleach.


End file.
